The Test
by Makeste
Summary: Yamamoto-centric gen. On first kills, and what it means to be a natural-born assassin.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. If I did, I would feel way guiltier about doing this to Yamamoto than I already do.

**Author's Notes: **This takes place post-Future Arc, after they've fixed up the timeline. In my mind the characters are about 17-ish here, but it's really open to interpretation, aside from the fact that they're still in school.

* * *

**The Test**

* * *

It happens in a lower-level shopping mall parking lot, at night, amidst murky shadows pinpricked by cold overhead lights. No one interferes; no police, no security. Whether they've been paid off by the enemy or they're just too scared to get involved in mob business, Yamamoto doesn't know. But either way, the hows and whys aren't really important. Most of the details aren't important, either.

The gang—members of a rival family—that takes them by surprise is the first detail that does matter. It's important because their ambush is what pins them between two cars and a construction barrier in a corner of the lot, robbing them of any quick escape route. It's also important because one of their men—a young mafioso not much older than Yamamoto—is the one who spots a weakness in their defense and decides to sneak up on them from behind.

Gokudera is the second important detail. He's important because when Yamamoto slips up and leaves a brief opening in their cover, he's the one to pay the price, in the form of two bullets. One to the gut, and one that nails him in his right forearm, instantly deactivating his box weapon.

And Yamamoto himself is the third important detail, because when the enemy hitman who had been sneaking up on them steps out of the shadows aiming a gun at Gokudera's head, and when Gokudera winces because he sees the barrel trained on him and he _knows_ in a moment of sick clarity that he won't be able to dodge, it is Yamamoto, watching the scenario unfold as if in slow motion from the sidelines, who is forced, in that moment, to make a decision.

That is the set-up. But in the end, the set-up isn't that important either. What matters is what happens because of it.

What matters is that Yamamoto, knowing full well what he is about to do, doesn't hesitate, and doesn't hold back. What matters is that his sword—the front, not the back—cuts through the man from collar to hip in a bloody diagonal arc, killing him instantly. What matters is that the man's gun doesn't go off.

What matters is that this is when Yamamoto makes his first kill.

* * *

One week later, and Yamamoto admits to himself that he isn't really coping too well.

It isn't even really in himself that he first notices the difference; it's in his friends. He notices because Yamamoto isn't used to having people walk on eggshells around him, and the change is pretty hard to miss. It's the sudden silences that stand out more than anything. At first, confused, he wonders why Tsuna and the others have suddenly become so quiet. It isn't until later that he realizes the reason they haven't said much lately is because _he's_ the one who's gotten quieter.

Once he realizes that much, he tries harder to reassure them by laughing and smiling just like he always has, to show them everything is fine. The problem is that it's not as easy as it used to be. And he keeps forgetting, slipping up, so that one minute he'll be laughing sympathetically as Tsuna complains about his latest training nightmare, and the next he'll suddenly remember something—the look in the other man's eyes as the life suddenly blinked out of them; the choked sound he made as steel carved through his neck—and he'll snap out of it a minute or so later to find Tsuna staring at him, worry written all over his face.

He doesn't like that.

But he can't help it. It's on his mind constantly, and despite his best efforts, the more he tries to forget, the more it lingers there. The thing is, it's not that he's been traumatized by the event. It's that he _hasn't_ been. And the idea of that really, really worries him because it isn't normal, isn't _right_. Not at all.

It even seems to be getting worse, because even things that would have once never failed to cheer him up are now suddenly having only the vaguest effect. He visits Gokudera in the hospital a few days after the attack, and the Storm Guardian actually thanks him for saving his life—another first. But even the happiness he feels at the rare statement of gratitude doesn't last for more than a few minutes. It's like he's slowly forgetting how to feel.

Because he can't think of any other way to snap himself out of his frightening sudden apathy, he goes and finds out more about the man that he killed. His name; his friends; his relatives; his hobbies. He even tracks down a few of the guy's acquaintances (though he makes sure they're non-mafia first; they're still on rocky terms with the other famiglia) and talks to them, hears stories, anecdotes. Anything he can do to humanize the dead man a little more in his memory.

None of it helps much, because he'd already known the man was human. That's not the problem.

The problem is, he's starting to think the one that isn't human is _him_.

* * *

Two weeks after the incident, he finally realizes he isn't going to be able to sort this out on his own, and goes to talk to his dad.

Except that just as he's approaching the door to the kitchen, he hears two voices talking within, and he pauses. One of them is his dad, but the other…

His eyes widen. The other voice is Reborn's.

Curiously, he moves closer to the door, stops just outside, and listens quietly.

"…hope you don't think I wouldn't have noticed; he _is_ my son, Reborn."

"I know," comes the hitman's squeaky voice in reply.

"And I knew what he was getting into when he started spending time with you and the Vongola Tenth. I'm not a fool." A sigh before he continues. "If I thought I could have stopped him, I would have. But it was Takeshi's own choice in the end, and I knew that too."

"Of course. You wouldn't have trained him otherwise."

Brow narrowed incredulously, hardly able to believe what he's hearing, Yamamoto leans his head even closer to the door.

"No," his father's voice replies. "And I knew when I taught him the way of the sword that this would happen one day. It's a test every swordsman must eventually face. The best I could do was hope that when it did happen, Takeshi would be strong enough to move past it."

"Do you think he will be?"

There's a pause. Yamamoto clenches a fist, realizing as he does so that he's trembling.

Finally his dad says, "Yes."

"Like father, like son, after all."

"Don't get me wrong." His father chuckles, but it's a strangely humorless laugh. "There's a reason I left that business. I can't protect him from this, and I can't make up his mind for him, but I can hope that one day he'll realize, just as I did."

"Do you really think that will happen?"

"Heh… I don't know. I guess that depends on him."

It's at that point when Yamamoto swallows and realizes abruptly that he can't stand to listen any more. Pushing away from the door, he turns and heads back upstairs, his thoughts restless and uneasy.

* * *

Three weeks, and Yamamoto is taking his time showering and changing after baseball practice, so that by the time he finishes up, he's the last one in the locker room. He puts his deodorant in his locker, reaches down to grab his towel, and upon straightening again, finds Reborn perched comfortably on one of the locker shelves.

Yamamoto blinks at the sudden appearance, but is otherwise unfazed; he's used enough to the infant's ways by now. He forces a smile. "Hey, kid."

"Ciaossu, Yamamoto," Reborn greets in return.

"What's up?"

"I came to have a chat with you about your recent kill."

Yamamoto knows Reborn will catch his wince even as he does it, but he can't stop himself. With a sigh, he decides he might as well be honest. "I don't want to talk about that."

"I know you don't, or you would have said something to your dad after you overheard us in the kitchen."

Yamamoto blinks again, then shakes his head and chuckles hopelessly, because he should have known. "You knew the whole time, huh?"

"Of course."

"Hmm." He smiles helplessly. "So I guess there's no way to get out of this, then."

"Not unless you think you can escape me."

This time the laugh is more sincere. "I wouldn't stand a chance," he says, and knows it's true.

Reborn hops down from the locker shelf and onto Yamamoto's shoulder. There's a pause, and then he says, far too knowingly, "It doesn't bother you, does it?"

Yamamoto looks away, trying to smile but pretty sure it's not convincing. "Of course it does."

"But not enough. Not as much as you think it should."

Another pause. Yamamoto considers lying for the hell of it, then slowly breathes out and discards the idea. He can't hide it from Reborn anyway; it's like the kid can read his mind.

"No," he says at last.

"And that's what's really bothering you."

Yamamoto, still avoiding his eyes and no longer even pretending to smile, just nods.

"You need to get over it," Reborn says firmly.

Yamamoto shoots Reborn an incredulous look, because he honestly didn't expect _that_. But Reborn doesn't say anything. After a beat, Yamamoto frowns and looks away again, feeling betrayed somehow. At last, he says quietly, "I didn't have the right to do what I did."

"Maybe not the right, but whether you like it or not, you did have the choice. And it's a choice you'll eventually have to face again, because of what you are."

"And what is that?" Yamamoto asks, dimly aware that he's almost afraid of the answer.

"A hitman."

Yamamoto glances back at him again, and Reborn continues.

"You have an ability and skill beyond what most people can imagine, and because of that skill, you'll also make choices that most people will never have to face. You could have done nothing in that lot, and that man would have killed Gokudera. Instead, you made the choice to sacrifice his life to save your partner's. Whether it was right or wrong doesn't matter. What matters is that the decision was given to you, and you made it."

Yamamoto takes a deep breath, thinking it over. "But deciding just like that… ending someone's life…" He trails off, shaking his head.

"It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, doesn't it?" Reborn remarks, and he almost sounds sympathetic. "But there's no getting around it."

Yamamoto sighs and looks away again. "It shouldn't be so easy, though. It's not a game… it never was."

"It is a game. The only difference is that we're not actually the players."

"Then what are we?"

"The pawns."

Yamamoto pauses. Then, slowly, he laughs. "Pawns, huh?"

"That's right." Reborn meets his eyes knowingly. "And what do pawns exist for?"

And Yamamoto breathes in deep again, as the meaning of the metaphor finally hits him.

"We… protect the king."

Reborn eyes him closely. Then, finally, he asks, "Are you all right with that?"

Yamamoto closes his eyes, and wonders if he is.

Now, as he looks back at it, he is finally starting to understand the inevitability of it all, the way his life has been moving toward this point from the moment he first picked up a sword. The 'game' he thought he'd been playing could have never lasted forever. Things change, opponents level up, and it was only a matter of time before it finally reached a point where he would have to take that next step too.

And it's hard, to think about something like that, and to acknowledge, even to himself, that he'll eventually have to do it again. And again. But Reborn is right in that it's a matter of choice. And in the end, the only thing he _can_ choose is to protect the people that he loves.

"What does it mean if I say yes?" he asks Reborn at last.

The corner of Reborn's mouth tugs upward. "It means I was right about you."

And for the first time in three weeks, Yamamoto smiles a real, genuine smile, if a little wiser and a little less naïve than before.

"I guess you were."

What was it his father had called it? A test? Yamamoto wonders if this means he has passed, or failed. Either way, at least he's finally sure again now.

He _is_ still human; just steelier, sharper. He's gone through the rite of passage, and come out the other side now as… whatever it is he was supposed to emerge as. A man. A pawn.

A hitman.


End file.
